Scribble
by tamiiland
Summary: Doodles on the window, races down the stairs and butterfly kisses. This might be his best lonely birthday yet.


Read'n'Review—it feeds the muse!

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><p><strong>Scribble<strong>

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><p>There was the usual warmth coming out of the Burrow. March had passed by as fast as a flashing snitch, and the newly born April's sunny weather was slowly making its way through the winter clouds. Life was not easy, but it was joyful and quietly peaceful; something that had become less strange and more welcome after several months of adjusting to the new, bright world.<p>

There were some of those who had given everything they had to achieve such a goal were enjoying the bliss; some others were still fighting with unhealed scars. It was common to see wizards of all ages and kinds slowly making their way through a tough recovering at Saint Mungo, but the type of wounds that lingered the most in one's mind and skin were those that could not be touched, but deeply felt in the soul. George Weasley was no exception to the rule.

Looking intently at the opaquely old window, the young man exhaled heavily on it, cracking a small grin as his breath fogged the crystal-like surface. Seeing how quickly it started to fade, he lost no time in doodling on it with his slim finger.

George's smile grew even bigger, mischievously pleased with his work. He knew his mother would be unhappy when she found out that he had been staining her windows again, but he had had an urgency to do it. Besides, doodling on the glass was a rather harmless hobby, and he mastered it outstandingly.

"George? Where are you?" a female voice called, but he tried to force himself to ignore it. "Honey, are you somewhere around here?"

He had never been good friends with discipline.

"I'm here, love," he answered. "I'm in… 'my' room."

An old wooden door opened with a plaintive creak. It was a familiar sound, and George felt even more at home every time he heard it.

A long, black mane swished inside the room as its owner bent sideways, shyly peeking in. Angelina Johnson's dark eyes fixed themselves on the man, and he blinked back at her scrutinizing stare.

"Hey there," the black woman murmured. Opening the door fully, she lingered on the entrance.

"Hey there," George smiled; happiness lit his eyes after some struggling. "Did you bring any flashing news for me, Angie?"

"Well…" She scratched her nose, approaching the man who sat awkwardly on top of some piled up boxes. "Everybody's been wondering where the birthday boy is."

George sighed, sadly gazing out the window. "I miss the time when they wondered where the birthday _boys_ were."

He felt Angelina's soft hand resting on his knee. The man stiffened slightly at her compassionate touch; he crossed his arms and looked away sternly, trying to make his discomfort as less noticeable as possible. George was simply not accustomed to receiving solidarity from everyone whenever they saw him starting to sink in one of his pits of depression. A few years before, his twin would have been the one to console him. That, however, would no longer be the case.

Even though time had already started top slip by, allowing the grieving and the hurt to start healing, he had not allowed himself to start forgetting just yet. He had had to move out from the small apartment he had bought with his twin, for he saw Fred's shadow every time he turned around. Smiling, laughing, frowning, shouting, yawning; all of those expressions and more chased George each time he walked into a room. It had become maddening at some point, so he bought a little house for himself near the Burrow. Loneliness would haunt him every now and then, because he wasn't used to being all by himself, but he didn't want to be relieved from the comfort that silence can bring.

He simply needed some more time to ease his mind. Then, he would dare to ask Angelina to leave her parent's house and move in with him.

George was brought back to reality when said woman cleared her throat. "Charlie's here already. He's pretty excited about the mare Ukrainian Ironbelly that they homed last week."

"He sure does prefer dragons to women," George snorted, causing the tanned woman next to him to laugh. Getting up from the boxes, the young man shook some lint off of his jeans. His sullen mood dispersed, dimmed, and finally faded when he allowed himself to smile at her bright eyes.

"He does, doesn't he?"

"Absolutely. And I'm just _so_ excited to hear about his new gigantic iguana." Taking her hand in his, they walked to the door. "Maybe I'll even ask him if I can pet it without getting my head bitten off."

Another girlish laughter filled the air as they strolled out. George turned around and looked at the window, where the beam had already disappeared. He could make out his silly scribble on the glass's surface; his heart felt a bit lighter.

"Come on, Weasley. I challenge you to a race down the stairs," Angelina smirked.

"Down the stairs?" George grinned as he flexed his fingers in expectance. "That's audacious of you, Johnson."

She bumped him with her hip; his eyes glinted mischievously. Before either one of them knew it, they were running down the stairs in a crazy race for the ground floor.

Grabbing her by the waist, George pulled Angelina to the side and against the wall; he used that moment to jump the rest of the steps and land on the wooden floor with a loud noise. Twirling coolly, he pointed at the black haired woman with both arms extended and his hands playing the role of guns.

"In your face, Johnson!"

"Cheater!" Angelina shouted, stomping down the last steps and poking him in the chest accusingly. "What a way to treat a Gryffindor Captain," she playfully hissed.

"Not _my_ Gryffindor Captain," the redhead mocked, bending down slightly. "Besides, it's April fools."

He heard laughter coming from the living room, but he swiftly ignored the fact that people were gathered there. George would make sure to be the most gracious host during his birthday party soon enough; he wanted to be a man in love for a few more moments.

"I think something important happened today, besides April fools. Got any ideas?" she smiled coyly, leaning into him.

"Hmm… Not a clue. Maybe you forgot to hand in a report at work."

Angelina clicked her tongue disapprovingly and suddenly gave him a quick kiss. "Suffering from memory loss, already? You're such an old man."

George grimaced. Being twenty-two did make him feel kind of… _old_er.

"Treat your elders with the due respect."

"I refuse," Another butterfly kiss. "Happy birthday, George."

He encircled her waist with his arms. "Thanks, missus."

A flash of his doodle on the window illuminated his mind momentarily:

_'Happy birthday, Fred!'_


End file.
